


Shame In The Palm Of Your Hand

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Collars, Dark Character, Dubious Consent, Feeding, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is Charles's captive, and Charles wants him to eat.  A bite of food at a time, from the palm of Charles's hand.  Erik may not be able to resist that for very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame In The Palm Of Your Hand

Erik looks down at the bite of food on Charles's palm. It's nothing much. A grape. More than he's gotten in the twenty-four hours he's been here.

He sets his eyes on the floor and sets his jaw. _No._

Charles sighs and takes his hand out of Erik's line of sight. "You won't prove anything by starving yourself," he says, and there's a soft sound of Charles chewing, swallowing; another nearly-imperceptible sound of another grape coming off the vine, and then Charles's hand is back in Erik's view. "I could make you. This will happen one way or another, it's only a matter of time; why let it come to that?"

Why indeed. Erik has one of Charles's damned transfer collars on his neck, and he's been stripped to the skin and bound with his arms behind him, bound in simple silk rope that he couldn't loosen with his power even if it were available to him. He's been kneeling on this floor for an hour now, ever since Charles's little trained minions took Erik out of the cell Charles had placed him in, stole his clothes, tied him up, and walked him here. They'd each taken an arm, as if they'd been afraid he might try to run; they'd both looked at him as though he were nothing, as though his nudity meant nothing. Erik wondered whether they were really in there at all, or if they were empty shells that Charles was manipulating from afar.

But he'd been left alone on the floor to wonder, and only fifteen minutes later had Charles come in, tray of food balanced carefully in the air above his palms, pitcher and saucer and metal goblet floating along behind him, not remarking on Erik's state of dress, either. He'd simply set the items down with a light sigh, said "Your power is remarkable, Erik, but I can't deny it's taxing, learning to use it," and then plucked a grape from the vine on his tray and offered it.

"Eat," Charles says this time, soft, coaxing. "I want you to keep your strength up."

"Because my power weakens if I do?"

"Erik." Charles murmurs it; it sounds too familiar on his lips, too much like the way he said Erik's name when they were tangled up in bed together, Charles on top of him, Charles's hand on his hip and Charles's mouth on the base of his throat, Charles's cock heavy and hard against Erik's thigh. "If you agreed to stay here, at my side, with me, I'd take that collar off you and we'd rule this world _together_." He turns fully toward Erik and reaches out with his other hand, sweeping Erik's hair back off his face. "It's what I want. And I can feel it in your mind; you want it, too."

Erik shakes his head. "No."

"Then eat, at least. Please, Erik."

Charles is right; this will happen one way or another. Choose to be complicit in his own captivity, or make Charles force him?

The trouble with the former is obvious; the trouble with the latter is it'll tell Charles there's no point in waiting for Erik to say _yes_ to things. Erik's not sure he's ready for that.

He bends his head down and takes the grape from Charles's palm, careful not to touch Charles's skin.

"There," Charles murmurs. "Better?"

Erik's stomach growls; as much as he knows he wasn't going to starve, as much as he's had water available to him for the past day and is by no means as hungry as he's ever been, it _is_ better, and there's more where that came from. He looks up with Charles, and Charles smiles down at him. "Of course there's more where that came from," Charles says. "If there's anything you want, you only have to ask."

"Your price has gone up, then," Erik observes. "A moment ago I only had to take."

"Ah. You're right, I'm moving things along too quickly. And I'd hate to deny us both the pleasure of this." He offers Erik another grape, but his hand is curved this time, his fingers impossible to avoid. When Erik takes the next grape, Charles's fingertips brush his cheek.

 _The pleasure of this._ Erik closes his eyes, focuses on the food and nothing else. It's been too many years since Charles pulled him from the water, too many years since Erik came up coughing and fighting and ended up saying _I thought I was alone_ all the same.

Pleasure. Yes, there's that, and there will always be that; Charles's hands on him, Charles's body against his, Erik can't control those feelings well enough to deny it.

Charles feeds him slowly, a bite at a time, fruit at first and then cheese. After a while, he floats a metal saucer to the floor, and he draws the pitcher down, filling the saucer with water.

Erik glares at him. "I would have thought the goblet, at least."

"I'd rather see you do this."

"I'm sure you would," Erik says, and then does his best to project «you bastard» along with it. Charles just smiles, an expression that would be enigmatic if Erik didn't know exactly what Charles was waiting for.

He looks down at the saucer and sighs; he needs the water. He can reach it, in all likelihood; spread his legs out for balance, lower his chest, everything careful, careful-- he probably won't fall.

"I'll help you," Charles says quietly, and he puts a hand on Erik's shoulder, curving his fingers down over it, past his collarbone and onto his chest. "I'll catch you if you fall. Lean down for me and drink."

An order, but with voice instead of mind. Erik knows it won't be that simple forever. He leans down, letting Charles take some of his weight, and then his face is at the saucer, and he laps from it, taking up small tonguefuls of water, one at a time.

Charles's fingers move gently on his skin, back and forth: a caress; a tease. Erik keeps drinking.

When he comes up again, his lips are wet, drops of water slipping down his chin.

It's too much for Charles, apparently; Charles comes out of his chair and kneels down in front of him, one hand going to his throat where the collar sits, the other onto Erik's cheek.

"I've missed you," Charles whispers. His eyes are wide, bright; the years apart may have hardened him, but he's still the man Erik loved, once.

His hand slips down to Erik's cock, which to Erik's sheer lack of surprise betrays him by getting instantly erect. Charles groans softly and leans forward, his mouth a breath away from Erik's. Erik can feel the soft hot gusts of air as Charles breathes out against his lips. Charles is gasping more than Erik is, in spite of the fact that it's Erik's cock being worked, Erik's body being driven into arousal and desperation.

"Charles," Erik murmurs-- and then his resistance tears away from him, of his own volition or Charles's, he doesn't know which. Once it's gone, he doesn't care; he surges forward and presses his mouth to Charles's, kissing him, forcing Charles to moan against him. Charles's hand speeds, and Erik breaks the kiss so he can rest his forehead against Charles's shoulder, pant desperately for air, and Charles-- _bastard_ \-- holds him there at the peak, holds him and holds him, makes Erik wait and wait and _wait_ , God. He might keep this up forever; Erik knows from all too much experience that Charles could keep him on the edge like this for hours.

«Please,» he thinks, and Charles cries out as if it's _his_ pleasure cresting, his cock jerking in Erik's hand, his body being allowed to come and made to come all at once. Erik shudders as it happens, as he comes and comes, his cock leaving Charles's hand wet and messy.

Charles presses sloppy openmouthed kisses to Erik's cheek and neck as he eases Erik back to kneeling; he licks gently at the stripe of skin above the collar. "Missed you," Charles murmurs. He even sounds like his was the body driven to near-pain by the pleasure, but Erik can see Charles is still hard, still ready. Riding along Erik's orgasm must have been more intense than usual. Maybe absence does more than make the heart grow fonder; maybe it makes the telepath more inclined to weave himself deeply into his ex-lover's mind, leaving few boundaries if any between them.

Erik does his best to bury that thought, the potential it has. He focuses on his cock, on the way it felt to have someone else's hand on him again after all these years, on the loneliness he's felt with Charles gone from his life. Charles shudders at that last and pulls back.

"I know," Charles murmurs. "I can't say I've had no one but you since then-- thank you for that, by the way, it means a great deal to me-- but no one's ever been to me what you are. You must know that."

"I do," Erik says, because it's true, because it costs him little enough to admit it.

Charles glances down at his hand-- yes, Erik left him very messy indeed. Charles pulls a cloth napkin off the table, but Erik's quick thought-burst of «Wait» stops him. Charles's lips part as he reads Erik's intention, and he lifts his hand into range.

Erik only has to bend his head forward for this, and it's easier than the grapes, easier even than having Charles touch him and please him. He licks a streak off Charles's fingers, the first of many small, slow licks, and it's strange; he doesn't taste his shame at all.

 _-end-_


End file.
